<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>top me off by ShowMeAHero</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898377">top me off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero'>ShowMeAHero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Big Dick Richie Tozier, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Richie was twenty-five years old, he took all the money he saved by going to community college and working rather than go to grad school like the rest of his friends, and he bought a bar. He gets a neon sign that says <b><i>TOP ME Off</i></b> and decides that’ll be the name of the place, and it all spirals from there. Now, Richie’s in his thirties and <i>TOP ME Off</i> is one of the most successful bars on his block. Since he’s actually stable with roots and a house and a business and all that now, he decides it’s time to start looking for someone to actually <i>share</i> it with.</p><p>Lucky for him, he’s looking for someone the night one of the handsomest guys he’s ever seen walks into the bar. Bill had been talking while Richie was cleaning out glasses behind the bar, but he trails off when he realizes Richie’s stopped paying even a shred of attention to him.</p><p>It’s not really Richie’s fault. The guy in the suit is just <i>so</i> fucking hot, it’s stupid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>678</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>top me off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitrain/gifts">starlitrain</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <a href="https://rehtea.tumblr.com/">rehtea</a> on Tumblr!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Richie was twenty-five years old, he took all the money he saved by going to community college and working rather than go to grad school like the rest of his friends, and he bought a bar. He gets a neon sign that says </span>
  <b>
    <em>TOP ME Off</em>
  </b>
  <span> and decides that’ll be the name of the place, and it all spirals from there. Now, Richie’s in his thirties and </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOP ME Off </span>
  </em>
  <span>is one of the most successful bars on his block. Since he’s actually stable with roots and a house and a business and all that now, he decides it’s time to start looking for someone to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>share </span>
  </em>
  <span>it with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucky for him, he’s looking for someone the night one of the handsomest guys he’s ever seen walks into the bar. Bill had been talking while Richie was cleaning out glasses behind the bar, but he trails off when he realizes Richie’s stopped paying even a shred of attention to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not really Richie’s fault. The guy in the suit is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking hot, it’s stupid. He’s at least half a foot shorter than Richie, but he looks a lot stronger than him. Richie can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>his pupils dilate as he looks the guy over. Bill glances over his shoulder to look at the guy, too. Instead of staring, though, he just snorts and turns back around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Richie asks defensively. He’s still holding his dish towel and a stein, but he’s frozen in place, still just watching the guy stand there. His suit is neat, bespoke and fitted nicely to him, deep black and dark like his eyes— His </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which were huge and searching the bar for something or someone. Presumably someone, being that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a bar. Instead of getting what he wants, though, he sees Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the two of them make eye contact, Richie feels like a bolt of lightning shoots down his spine. The guy gives him a small smile, and not even much of one, more polite than anything else, but Richie’s hands still break out in a sweat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Rich, get it together,” Bill comments. Richie blinks, looking down at Bill, just for a split second, before his eyes flicker back up to the guy in the doorway. He’s already looked away, though, turning his head to keep examining the bar. Richie can see that his hair has a wave to it, and maybe could even be curly, but it’s combed and perfectly coiffed. He looks like the total antithesis of Richie, in his mismatched patterns and gaudy thrift-store statement pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re seeing this guy, though, right?” Richie asks. “Can you fucking blame me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill does actually look back over his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem anywhere near as impressed as Richie, which is boggling his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s more your type than mine,” Bill says. “Not all of us want to be dominated by people half our size.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re right,” Richie agrees, grinning. “Some of us want </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>dominate people </span>
  <em>
    <span>twice </span>
  </em>
  <span>our size.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s face flushes pink as he looks down into his nearly-empty glass. He drains the last of his whiskey before motioning Ben over to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same stuff?” Ben asks, taking Bill’s glass from him. Bill nods, dropping his chin into his hand, propping his elbow up on the bartop to study Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie has a crush on the guy who just walked in,” Bill comments. Richie whacks him with his dishtowel. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You reacted like a cartoon wolf when he opened the fucking door. I’m surprised I didn’t have to hit you with a newspaper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Richie says. When he looks back towards the door, the guy’s not there anymore, which— Makes sense, people don’t just— stand indefinitely in doorways for hours so Richie can stare at them with intense yearning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go say something to him,” Ben tells him. He passes Bill a fresh drink, then waves to Mike when he comes in. Mike’s all smiles as he goes behind the bar to join Ben, grabbing his apron on the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Mikey,” Bill says, tipping his head to see Mike better. Ben and Richie make eye contact, and Richie rolls his eyes before grabbing his next glass and shoving it down on the spray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there, Big Bill,” Mike says. He makes like he’s taking stock of the bar and who’s already in, but Richie knows he’s just studying Bill. It’s a hopeless situation that he’s mostly surrendered himself to. “Got any news for me today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie has a crush and we were just telling him to go say something,” Bill tells him. Mike whistles, turning to Richie; he just waves Mike off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crush?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mike asks. “Mr. Won’t-Blind-Date-Because-Nobody-Can-Handle-Me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>handle me,” Richie argues. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Least </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all some businessman guy who actually probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>here on a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which guy is he?” Mike asks. He doesn’t have to crane his neck to see over people’s heads, but Bill does, standing up on the bottom rung of his barstool and pointing towards the dude at his table in the corner. He’s by himself, and, as Richie’s watching, he checks his watch, then his phone. With a sigh, he looks over the place again, and they make eye contact for a second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Richie can see that the guy has some sort of intention in their eye contact. He pushes away from the high-top table he’s commandeered and makes his way through the crowd to the bar itself; Richie can’t pull his eyes off of him for his entire path there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy comes right up to the bar, but he doesn’t put his arms or hands on it like most people do. Instead, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>carefully leans up and over it to grab Richie’s attention, even though they’re inches apart and he’s had Richie’s attention since the second he walked into the place. This close up, Richie can see freckles faintly scattered across his nose and his cheeks, the curls falling loose across his forehead, the smile and stress lines on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t know how to start a conversation. He doesn’t want to just ask for his order, because he wants to at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the guy, but there are no normal words in his head that are ready to come out of his mouth. Instead, he leans over the bar, too, and says, in his best old-timey radio Voice, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy levels Richie with a look, but his stern expression is betrayed by a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His face goes red like Bill’s does when Richie teases him about Mike, and Richie can’t help but grin, planting a hand on the bartop to lean closer to the guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was born under a bad sign,” the guy tells him. “So, it figures I’d walk into your place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, then offers the guy a hand to shake. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually </span>
  </em>
  <span>cordially introduce himself to new customers at the bar, but this guy is a special circumstance for two reasons: one, Richie </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs to put a name to the face; and, two, he also wants to touch this guy so badly his skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>itches </span>
  </em>
  <span>with it. Lucky for him, the guy only hesitates for a brief second before he shakes Richie’s hand. His hand is warm, warmer than Richie’s, dry and moisturized and firm and </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie has to make himself let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie Tozier,” Richie says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gesundheit,” the guy tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Richie says. “My mom sneezed and they just wrote it down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>name,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the guy replies, smiling. “I’m Edw— Eddie. Kaspbrak. Then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edweddie is a weird name,” Richie says, and Eddie grins again, turning to look back through the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully not too weird,” he comments. When he turns to look back to Richie, he explains, “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do they look like?” Richie asks. Eddie shrugs, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the back of his left for a moment before he dusts both palms off and makes himself stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not sure,” he says. Richie whistles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blind date,” he says understandingly. “Want a shot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hesitates, then says, “You know what— Yeah, actually. Sure, that sounds good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Richie grabs a clean shot glass, Bill stands from the bar, offering Richie a half-salute and a stupid grin before he moves to the end of the bar to sit and talk closer with Mike while Ben deals with the other customers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m taking a shot, you should take one with me,” Eddie tells him. Richie tries not to make a habit of drinking with the customers just because they ask, but the usual throng of women is already giving Ben more attention than he can possibly know what to do with, and Mike’s actually waiting the tables scattered through the bar, and— Well, Richie owns the fucking place, so. He figures he can do what he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Eds, you’re on,” Richie says. He lines up a second shot glass and pours a shot of vodka with grenadine in his before motioning to Eddie. “Pick your poison, what’ll you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks at Richie’s shot glass distastefully, but he still says, “Just— Whatever you’re having.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suit yourself.” Richie gives him the same, and they clink their glasses together, both of them smiling, before knocking them back. Richie shivers, letting the heat slide down his spine. Eddie inhales sharply before opening those big eyes again to look directly at Richie, </span>
  <em>
    <span>through </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, and he grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not half bad,” Eddie says. Richie’s not sure what he’s referring to, exactly, but he likes the way Eddie says it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eddie turns back to look over the bar as a whole again, Richie takes it upon himself to pour them each a second shot. Eddie turns back, looking down into the glasses and smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This one’s on the house,” Richie tells him, over the music and the shouting voices. “Liquid courage before she gets here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face flushes red again as he picks up his shot glass and says, “He.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Richie asks. His palms go sweaty, his hands going numb as he looks Eddie over again with the new tint of </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual possible option.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The blind date,” Eddie clarifies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“My </span>
  </em>
  <span>blind date, I mean. Is a he.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha,” Richie says. He knocks back his second shot, then says, “I’m gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie chokes on his shot, then laughs as Richie leans over the bartop to pound on his back. He waves Richie off, still smiling as he says, “Is that how you come out to </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Richie says. “Just hot guys in bars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you allowed to come on to your customers?” Eddie asks. Richie feels the flush of heat spread down his face and through his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, without getting fired?” Richie says. He laughs, and he’s about to correct Eddie, but, instead, he says, “Yeah, I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good.” Eddie taps his fingertip on the face of his watch, then sighs, looking towards the door of the bar. When it doesn’t open spontaneously, he looks back to Richie and says, “Do you get a lot of guys in their late thirties coming in here on blind dates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less than you’d hope, more than you’d think,” Richie answers. “Better late than never, in my opinion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Eddie leans back against the bar, then seems to think better of it and sits up straight on his barstool again. It makes Richie smile, the fussy shuffling to find a comfortable position where he doesn’t lean his nice suit into anything sticky. “I mean— I was married. Before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Richie puts his chin in his palm and his elbow on the bartop. After this long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>has no qualms about the stickiness of the place. It is what it is; he can’t mop twenty-four-seven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emboldened, Eddie nods, and says, “To a woman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To a </span>
  <em>
    <span>woman?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie asks. Eddie’s face flushes again, and he looks away as Richie says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>no, I’m just— surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it that obvious?” Eddie asks. Richie shakes his head, standing up straight and going back to rinsing out glasses again just for something to do with his fidgeting hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only to a fellow connoisseur such as myself,” Richie tells him. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling a little as he keeps looking out over the bar for another beat. He turns fully to face Richie, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just got divorced,” Eddie says, “and I’ve been on a few dates with guys and I know this is what I should’ve been doing the whole time, but I was just scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes the information in, said to him quickly though it was, then nods. Eddie watches him intensely, studying his facial expressions minutely, and so Richie takes pity on him and says, “But, you’re not scared anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s more a statement than it is a question, but Eddie nods anyways. He smooths his lapels down again, then pushes his hair back from his face and fixes the coif of his hair without even looking at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Richie’s impressed by it, but he’s more turned on by it. He shifts as Eddie says, “I’m just supposed to meet this guy and I came straight from work and I’m sort of— I’m nervous. I just want one of these to go well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods, and Eddie looks over his shoulder into the bar again. Richie isn’t sure what to say that isn’t either an obvious come-on or an empty placation, so he doesn’t speak for a beat. Instead, they both watch Ben for a moment as two women put their hands on his arms; he just politely disentangles himself before moving on to the next table to wipe it down. He’s always taken the attention he gets in stride, which Richie appreciates. If Ben was any less gone over Bev than he is, Richie would have to kick his ass for letting people hang off him like that. As is, he luckily knows them both, and he knows Ben just doesn’t know how to reject people. He’s too afraid of being mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he like that?” Eddie asks sharply, watching Ben pull away from a man touching his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, eh?” Richie answers. He makes a waffling so-so motion with his hand and says, “He’s engaged to a friend of mine, he’s just too nice to say no to people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie absorbs this answer without taking his eyes off Ben. After a moment, he glances up at Richie. Something about his short, strong guy in his suit with the blazing anger jumping into his eyes lights Richie’s blood on fire like trails of gasoline touched by a lit match.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll say no for him,” Eddie says. Richie watches this virtual stranger gather up all his nerves and forcibly convert them into rage and courage before hopping off his barstool and shoving through the crowd to get to Ben. He steps in between him and the people touching him, his face going red again as he scolds them sternly. One of them reaches out to put a hand on him, but he easily sidesteps them, then shouts in their face until they turn away. Richie can’t hear any of it, but just </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching </span>
  </em>
  <span>it makes him sweat, blowing past half-hard in his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eddie comes back, he just puts his hand down on the bartop and says, “Can I have a Dark ‘n’ Stormy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir, you may,” Richie tells him. He gets Eddie the drink and he means to start talking to him again, to tell him how impressed he was by the way he stood up for Ben, but the place gets busier and Eddie waves him off to get back to work. He goes back to the corner and finds himself a new empty table, setting up at it while Richie actually does his job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time Richie glances back to Eddie, he’s still alone. He starts to look more and more disgruntled as the night wears on, checking his watch more obsessively and frequently than Richie’s checking on </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He cycles through some sadness, then through rage, then plateaus into some strange calm. After an hour passes and Eddie’s in that strange apathetic calm state and the guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>hasn’t shown up, Richie makes a plan to go over and actually talk to Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, another group comes in and goes right up to his side of the bar and starts asking him for drinks, and he gets swept up in making them as quickly as he can. By the time he finally looks back to Eddie’s corner of the bar, though, he’s gone. The table’s empty, and then there’s new people at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart pounding, Richie stretches up onto the balls of his feet, craning his neck to see the entire bar. He can’t find Eddie anywhere, and it makes his heart squeeze with disappointment. Tossing his rag into the sink, he scrubs viciously at his face under his glasses before tapping Mike on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna take a breather,” he says. Mike nods and gives him a thumbs-up. He looks vaguely suspicious, but Richie slips out from behind the bar and down the back hallway to his office before Mike can push any further. His office has a back door that only he has the key to, so he pushes it open and steps out, letting the breezy night air smack him in his heated face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, then shoves his glasses up onto the top of his head, the nose pads catching on a tangle in his hair. He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Motherfucker,” he says, heat still coiling deep in his chest. He exhales, then turns to go back inside.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Eddie desperately wants to see Richie Tozier again. He comes in on Sunday, two days later, even if it feels like he’s a creep for going into a bar on a Sunday afternoon while the sun’s still in the sky. He asks behind the bar about Richie, but a woman tells him Richie’s not in on Sundays. He knocks his fist on the bar, then leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t manage to make it back on Monday or Tuesday, but he goes back Wednesday and Richie’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>not there. It’s some sort of live music night, and the guy Eddie had shoved the people off of last week — Ben, he thinks — tells Eddie that Richie usually plays something on Wednesdays, but that he’d called out for the whole day to help his friend move into his new house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t stay. He’s not interested in the live music or the drinks or the bar, not really. He doesn’t even really care anymore about his blind date that never showed up, even though he had a few choice words for Patty about the guy she’d try to set him up with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie comes back on Thursday and doesn’t even see Richie behind the bar, so he doesn’t try. He just turns and walks back out, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>the staff will probably start to catch on to him, and he doesn’t need Richie thinking he’s a stalker or some sort of freak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday Eddie goes back to the bar and Richie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>there, working behind the bar, laughing at something the other bartender’s just said to him as he reaches for a bottle above his head. The short sleeves of the black t-shirt he has on strain against his long, strong arms as he stretches; Eddie’s mouth goes dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Richie turns, Eddie sees a galaxy pattern on his shirt and the fact that he’s wearing a waistcoat second to the fact that the shirt has a v-neck that lets him see chest hair, and that combined with Richie’s stubble-beard and his dark curls pulled back, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his long legs, his hips, his—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie exhales sharply, then lets the door shut behind him. Richie must catch the motion out of the corner of his eye, because he looks up, shoving his glasses up his nose as he does, and his eyes land on Eddie. As soon as they make eye contact, Richie lights up, and he beckons Eddie over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long time no see, Spaghetti Man!” Richie shouts over the noise at the bar. “I thought for sure you’d come back and try your luck again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Eddie says. Richie’s brow furrows, so Eddie explains, “I came back this week. You weren’t here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks frustrated, briefly, but then someone else demands his attention. He blinks and waves them off with a frown before looking back down at Eddie and asking, “What’ll you have? Another Dark ‘n’ Stormy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we do another shot first?” Eddie asks. Richie grins, then grabs two shot glasses and lines them up between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you even need to ask, Eds?” Richie pours them each another shot of vodka with grenadine, then hands Eddie his before he can pick it up himself. “Bottoms up, babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goosebumps break out over Eddie’s arms as he hears that. He downs the shot in a second, just to swallow back the feeling Richie gave him by saying that, and shivers, his throat on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On another date?” Richie asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Eddie’s so transfixed by his long fingers for a moment that he doesn’t even find it in himself to scold Richie for it, which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. Instead, he gathers up all his courage and looks Richie directly in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Eddie says. He motions between them, his heart pounding as he does so, and asks, “Does this count?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie blinks at him. Eddie’s heart is racing, waiting for Richie to either flirt back or reject him, but then, unexpectedly, Richie laughs, leaning back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna want something better than some bartender putting the moves on you, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says. Eddie’s about to reply with a hopefully more obvious come-on that Richie will actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand </span>
  </em>
  <span>when another guest grabs his attention again. Richie shoots him a remorseful look, but he goes, leaning up over the bar to let the woman give her order directly into his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie has a hard time getting Richie alone again, after that. He’d gone home to shower and change in between work and coming here, unlike last week, so it’s later than he’d been here before, and the place is pretty packed. It keeps Richie busy, busy enough that he can’t stop and do shots with Eddie again like he did last week, even if he does stop now and then to say hi to him and check in, ask how Eddie’s doing, put a hand on his shoulder and lean in too close—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a surge of heat, Eddie drains half of his glass, then goes back to people-watching. Inevitably, it turns back into Richie-watching, but he just leans into it. Maybe, if he makes it more obvious that it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s watching, Richie will actually realize and respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s actually pretty much given up on that plan by the time Richie makes the last call. A few people pay off their tabs and head out; a couple others get their last drinks and talk in quiet tones, laughing. Eddie finishes the last of his drink and goes up to the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I close my tab?” Eddie asks. Richie taps one hand on the bar, then leans over it to smile right in Eddie’s face. This close, he can feel Richie’s breath, nearly spreading over his own lips. He inhales shallowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, can you stay after close for a little bit?” Richie asks. Eddie glances to Mike, then Ben. He’s not sure who’s actually in charge here, but he’s sure they probably won’t appreciate Eddie lingering around just so Richie can ask why he’s stalking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will the owner be okay with that?” Eddie asks. Richie looks confused for a moment before realization clears his face and he laughs. His smile makes his whole expression brighten right up, and it makes Eddie grin, too, before he even realizes he’s doing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think so,” Richie says, “considering I’m the owner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes a moment to process before he feels dumber than he’s ever felt. “God, I’m— Jesus. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, nobody ever does,” Richie says with a laugh. He motions to himself and says, “Doesn’t exactly scream </span>
  <em>
    <span>businessman, </span>
  </em>
  <span>does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie insists. Richie waves him off just as some customer at the other end of the bar calls for his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Richie says. “But I’m serious. Will you stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Eddie says. He hops up on the barstool right beside him and stays put, sticking around just like Richie asked. Richie, Ben, and Mike bustle around him, serving the last customers and closing tabs, running credit cards and making change so they can close the place up. It’s late — probably so late it’s becoming early — but Eddie finds he’s not tired at all. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>awake and exhilarated, his blood thrumming with electricity through his veins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three men split the jar of tips before Ben and Mike leave. The only other customer in the place, the guy Richie had been talking with last week, leaves with them, tossing Richie a wave and a wink as he does. Richie just rolls his eyes as he locks the door behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Briefly, Richie vanishes, instructing Eddie to stay put before he disappears down a back hallway. Eddie waits, swinging his legs a little bit as he looks the bar over. Ben and Mike had done a good job cleaning up while Richie was closing tabs. The whole place runs like a well-oiled machine. Eddie wonders how long it’s been here, which is to say, he wonders how long he’s been completely missing out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Richie comes back, the place is emptied, cleaned, and completely locked up. Richie abandons his apron and his waistcoat on a barstool before going back behind the bar and pulling out each of his shot glasses in clinking handfuls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks. Richie starts lining the shots up on the bar, one long line along the bartop, stretching between and then past the two of them. Eddie watches Richie pull up a fresh bottle of vodka and fixes the right nozzle on before he looks up and grins right at Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna play a drinking game?” Richie asks. Eddie’s face heats up, but he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got any in mind?” Eddie asks. Richie shrugs, pouring vodka expertly into each shot glass without needing to tip the bottle back up. He goes over each glass and fills them before drawing back with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about Never Have I Ever?” Richie suggests. Eddie sighs, playfully put-upon, but he agrees and helps Richie drop grenadine into each glass before they carry them over to the closest table. Richie sits down first, tugging his chair out and folding all his long limbs into it; Eddie takes the opportunity to choose the seat next to Richie, rather than across from him. He tentatively reaches out and knocks the heel of his shoe into Richie’s. Richie swallows, glancing up at Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never Have I Ever?” Eddie reminds him. Richie nods jerkily, looking back down at the shot glasses on the tabletop. After a brief moment, his ankle hooks through with Eddie’s, and a smile comes back on his pink-flushed face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take a shot if you’ve done whatever the other person says,” Richie says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was sixteen once, too,” Eddie reminds him. Richie pushes half the shot glasses towards him and motions for him to start, so Eddie says, “Never have I ever left the country.” Richie takes a shot, and Eddie motions for an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was born in Canada,” Richie says. “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the other country.” He drums his fingertips on the table, then says, “Never have I ever said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you </span>
  </em>
  <span>without meaning it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes his shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Richie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I was divorced,” Eddie reminds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean you didn’t love them at some point,” Richie says. Eddie shrugs, flipping his shot glass over and setting it aside next to Richie’s empty glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never have I ever stuck gum under a table,” Eddie tells him. Richie sighs, then takes a shot. “You own a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Have you no decency?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was in my younger and more vulnerable years,” Richie says defensively. “Fine, look, how about— Never have I ever taken nude photos of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For, like, a partner?” Eddie asks. Richie stares at him </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just— Any nude photos,” Richie clarifies, after a beat. “Not much to look at, so. You know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there’s a lot to look at,” Eddie says. He doesn’t take his shot, though, because he hasn’t, either. He hasn’t ever had a reason to, but, looking at Richie, and a couple shots in, he feels emboldened enough to say, “We could always change that answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s eyes widen behind his thick glasses, and some of his blue irises disappear fast with how quickly his pupils dilate. His face is a little red as he huffs a laugh and picks up another shot glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your turn, Spaghetti Man,” Richie says. Eddie considers his options, weighing them before choosing what he wants to say. In the end, he decides to try his luck, in the hopes that Richie might actually get the hint if he’s just a touch more obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never have I ever kissed a man before,” Eddie offers. The merry atmosphere around them dissipates into tension instead, the air going thick as Richie raises an eyebrow at him. He holds eye contact for a long while. For a terrifying moment, Eddie’s sure Richie’s not going to take the shot, that he’s going to laugh and say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, me neither, man, weird, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Eddie will have to go drown himself in a creek out of sheer mortification.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t happen, though. Instead, Richie picks up his next shot and takes it, throwing his head back as he tosses it back and swallows; Eddie watches his Adam’s apple bob, hypnotized, until Richie lowers the glass. When they make eye contact again, Eddie can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>the searing heat in his own gaze. Richie just stares back at him, eyes wide and dark, his lips parted, shiny with the vodka from his glass and tinted pink from the shot of grenadine in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Eddie says, then stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Richie echoes. He huffs a laugh, then asks, “So, I guess that means you’ve never done anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>else </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a guy, either. Right?” Eddie nods. The flush on Richie’s face deepens, and he manages a strangled, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you—” Eddie starts, then stops. “I mean— We can keep playing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all he can think of to diffuse the tension. Richie doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he nods in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, Eddie doesn’t know how this works. He’s enjoyed most of the dates he’s gone on with men, especially since his divorce, but this one feels different, if it even counts as a date. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>charged, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like the air around them is vibrating, humming. Every attempt at small talk Eddie makes fizzles, and the game feels more like a paper house than anything else as they look at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never have I ever touched another man’s cock,” Eddie says. Richie buries his face in his hands and lets out a long half-laugh, half-groan into his palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Spaghetti Man, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing </span>
  </em>
  <span>me,” Richie tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>my name,” Eddie insists, a little heated about it. His skin feels too tight, and he shifts to sit up straighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Eddie, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then,” Richie amends. He looks down at his shot glass, then says, “Hey, Eds. Wanna see a trick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie,” Eddie corrects him again. “Sure. What kind of trick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called a blowjob shot,” Richie tells him, which is all the warning he has before Richie’s doubling over the table and wrapping his lips around the rim of the shot glass in front of him. He gets a good position, then swings his head up and back, letting it tip into a ninety-degree angle backwards and swallowing to get the vodka down his throat. Eddie’s fucking transfixed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypnotized, </span>
  </em>
  <span>watching Richie’s lips around the glass and the surge of his throat as he swallows and the flush on his face as he leans forward to drop the glass and inhale sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie can feel the heat rising on his own face, his eyes wide as Richie looks back up at him. Richie catches his breath, then Eddie says, his voice thin and choked, “That’s— We’re out of shots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks down over the empty glasses on their table, then grins. “Guess we are. Shit outta luck, Eds, looks like we gotta clean this shit up now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie only stumbles a little when he helps Richie clean up the empty shot glasses, carrying them over to the sink behind the bar with him. Richie waves him off when he offers to help wash them. Instead, Eddie hops up onto the bartop itself. He sits there, swinging his legs as Richie washes the dishes. The strong muscles and tendons in his arms pull as he works, visible in his forearms while he scrubs deep in the glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’d you learn to do that?” Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wash a dish?” Richie asks. “You know, it’s an inherent talent. Some shit they just can’t teach you at bar-owning school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a dick,” Eddie says, and he worries immediately that it’s too much, but Richie just laughs and nods, drying the glass in his hands and setting it aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The shot?” Richie asks. Eddie nods. “Well, it’s a blowjob shot. The principles don’t change much from the original activity activity to namesake activity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both go quiet again, for a second. The thick air in the bar grows heavier, and Richie gives in first, shutting the water off and leaving the clean glasses to dry on their own as he goes to Eddie instead. After a beat where they stare at each other and Eddie wonders if maybe he should hop down to the floor, he gets a better idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of getting down, Eddie just spreads his knees, offering a space between his legs for Richie to step into. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does, </span>
  </em>
  <span>mercifully, step into it, and he’s so big and wide that his body forces Eddie’s legs even a little further apart to properly accommodate him. Richie reaches up, cupping Eddie’s face between his hands. Then, though, then he pauses, and stops moving completely. Just an inch or two away, he freezes and just studies Eddie’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks. Richie shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?” Richie asks. “I don’t wanna fuck up your first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One, I’ve already had my real first time,” Eddie tells him. “Two, I think I know what I’m doing with my first time kissing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guy </span>
  </em>
  <span>better than you do, and I got this. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>three, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re the only guy I’ve really </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fuck up my first time since I </span>
  <em>
    <span>got </span>
  </em>
  <span>divorced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie exhales all at once, then says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you talk so fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowns up at him, then says, “If that’s a problem—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even a little bit,” Richie says, then ducks his head to kiss Eddie. All the hints he’s been dropping have apparently landed, because Richie doesn’t seem to be holding back as he cradles Eddie’s face and licks into his mouth. His broad hands drag down his jaw and his neck, over his shoulders and then down his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abruptly, they’re touching </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eddie jerking Richie in so their hips are flush and Richie’s huge hands roaming over Eddie’s abdomen down his flat belly to his belt. Richie can’t seem to keep his hands off of him; he turns the kiss bruising before shifting to kiss his way across Eddie’s cheek to the knob of his jaw, then down to his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t do this here,” Eddie tells him, half-choked and desperate. Richie bites softly at his neck, his hands undoing the buckle on Eddie’s belt before his long fingers work the button loose on his pants and unzip them. The whole time, he keeps working on Eddie’s throat, sucking in a deep hickey before he licks over the sensitive skin and nips at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie says, more of a grumble in his chest than actual words. He inhales, pushing his glasses up again so he can get closer to Eddie’s skin; Eddie feels his eyelashes on him as Richie asks, “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s— It’s unhygienic to fuck on a bartop,” Eddie tells him, firm enough, like there’s some sort of rule book for these things. His breath stutters as it catches in his chest, his heart pounding and his nerves on </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Richie kisses the sensitive mark on his throat again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll clean it up after,” Richie murmurs into his skin. The vibration of it is a shot straight to Eddie’s cock, and he’s hard before Richie even lifts his head to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure your patrons would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>finding my cum in their drinks,” Eddie deadpans. Richie laughs, his whole face lighting up as his glasses slip back down his face and fall into place on his nose. Eddie has to kiss him again for that, the two of them crashing together in a heated kiss before Eddie makes himself draw back again, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, fine,” Richie finally concedes. Eddie shifts forward, waiting for Richie to move so he can hop up and off the bartop, but Richie doesn’t give him enough space to do it. Instead, he reaches for Eddie’s knees, wrapping his long fingers around them and drawing them tighter around his waist. He tugs Eddie close, getting his hands up under Eddie’s thighs and ass. Eddie realizes a second too late what’s about to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucker, don’t you dare—” he protests, but Richie hoists him up anyways, getting a good grip on him and tipping his head back to grin widely up at him, joyously excited. It makes Eddie’s stomach flutter. He has to duck his head down to kiss Richie back, clinging to his shoulder with one hand and cradling Richie’s face with the other, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to, he has no other choice. Richie responds in kind, his grip tightening on Eddie’s ass as he readjusts his hands and his hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” Eddie asks. Richie nuzzles along the side of his face, their noses brushing as he kisses to Eddie’s jaw, then the underside of it, kissing up to his chin. Eddie’s on fire with it; it takes longer for his brain to drag back to the question than it should. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Richie. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna do this in the bathroom—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie huffs a laugh against his throat, then kisses there one last time before drawing back and grinning up at Eddie. “I’m not gonna make you fuck me in the bathroom like some peasant,” he says. Eddie smiles as Richie says, “You can fuck me in my apartment upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You live above your own bar?” Eddie asks. Richie turns and carries Eddie through the bar, stopping to flick the lights off before he takes him down the back hallway. “White trash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Richie says, laughing. “Who’s fucking the guy who lives above his own bar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s skin thrums with barely-concealed energy every time Richie talks about getting fucked by him, about having </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him. He’s fingered himself a few times thinking about men and jerked off </span>
  <em>
    <span>countless </span>
  </em>
  <span>times on the same subject, but it’s different when a man is literally holding him up and telling him what’s going to happen. It’s even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>different when that man is Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie, miraculously, gets Eddie up the stairs and into his little apartment, kicking his front door shut behind himself. His bedroom isn’t far, and, when they get there, Richie dumps Eddie flat on his back on the mattress. He bounces once, laughing, before Richie’s climbing over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Richie says, a little short of breath. “Muscle really does weigh more than—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shuts him up with another kiss, dragging Richie in hard to connect their mouths. Richie inhales sharply, then bites at Eddie’s lower lip, getting access to the velvety heat of his mouth, the hard sharpness of his teeth, the slick wetness of his saliva. It should be disgusting, but Eddie </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, loves it like he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>loved kissing before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s big hands smooth over Eddie’s chest, his palms hot through the thin fabric of his shirt as he deftly unbuttons it and pushes it backwards off his arms. He works Eddie’s opened pants down, too, tossing them aside; his belt buckle thunks heavily to the floor. As Richie looks him over, Eddie feels his skin light up again, and a knot of fear twists in his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s slow, but he pulls Eddie’s leg up to bend at the knee until he can pull his sock off. He does the same with the other leg, then grabs his boxer briefs by the waistband and tugs them down. Eddie’s heart is pounding with arousal and terror, now, and he squirms away, trying to fight the urge to cover himself with his hands so Richie can’t see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tragically, though, Richie </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>see him, sees his arms twitch and his body pull in slightly. He shifts up, sitting back on his heels, still fully-clothed as he surveys Eddie’s naked body in his bed. After a moment of silence, he says, “What’s up, Eds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t know how to speak, suddenly. There feels like there’s a wall between his chest and his mouth, barring the words from coming up his throat. He shifts again, turning his face into Richie’s pillow, but Richie reaches out and draws his face up again until they’re looking at each other. Eddie’s heart starts pounding again, and he wants it, he wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie, </span>
  </em>
  <span>just— so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad, but this is also— It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>new, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he’s not sure what he wants or what he’s comfortable with and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>scary, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to want this much this fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stop?” Richie asks, when Eddie still doesn’t speak. Eddie shakes his head. “Okay. Do you want me to touch you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Eddie manages. Richie puts one hand gently on Eddie’s shoulder, his palm broad and his skin warm as he drags his fingers down over Eddie’s bare chest to his nipple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it okay if I touch you here?” Richie asks. Eddie nods again, so Richie ducks his head, running the pad of his thumb over Eddie’s nipple before he kisses above where his heart is racing. “What do you want? And it’s okay if you don’t want anything. You’re allowed to change your mind and say no anytime you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to— I want to,” Eddie says, then stops. After a long moment of hesitation where he has to force the words to take shape and then come up through his mouth, he continues, “I just don’t— I’m not ready for the actual—” He mimes with his hands, and Richie laughs at the charade of Eddie’s fingers creating a visual picture of </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick in ass </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead of just saying the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” Richie tells him. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Eds. I mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we save that one?” Eddie asks. Richie lifts his head again, his hand stilling on Eddie’s chest as he looks at him seriously. He smiles, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie processes what he’s actually said, and what that </span>
  <em>
    <span>means, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the larger implications of it all, and it makes his chest tighten in panic. Richie drops his head again, though, kisses Eddie’s cheek before lifting his head again to take his glasses off. The larger, nebulous concept is horrifying, but the reality of Richie in bed with him is so much better, more grounded, more real and less terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can do anything you’d like anytime, Eds,” Richie says. “Do you want to do anything tonight? Is there anything you’d be comfortable with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie wishes Richie was naked, too, because he feels exposed like this, completely bare and so hard his dick is leaking and flushed red from his stomach up. He reaches out and grabs the hem of Richie’s shirt in his hands. Richie just smiles, caught off-guard, as Eddie sits up to tug Richie’s shirt off over his head. He runs his hand over Richie’s bare chest, feeling the soft skin and chest hair underneath his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay with your mouth,” Eddie says. “And your hands, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said mouth first,” Richie cuts him off, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs as Richie shifts himself down in between Eddie’s legs, spreading them apart with a big hand on either thigh so he can get better access to Eddie’s hard cock. He licks a hot line up his dick, the velvet of his tongue tracing up, wet and warm, and Eddie’s head falls back into Richie’s pillows as he </span>
  <em>
    <span>keens. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>felt anything like this before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he absolutely also </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>wants it to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this okay?” Richie asks. Eddie nods jerkily, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch as Richie laps at the head of his dick before looking up to him again. “Still good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I promise,” Eddie assures him, breathless. “Keep going, you don’t have to stop to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop me if you need to,” Richie says. Eddie nods, tugging at Richie’s hair to guide him back down, but, for a moment, Richie doesn’t budge. “I mean it. Say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stop you if I need to, but that doesn’t mean anything if you never fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>start,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eddie tells him, groaning softly when Richie’s warm, damp breath spreads over the head of his cock when he exhales. Richie smiles, when Eddie looks down at him, before he shifts up and takes half of Eddie’s cock into his mouth in one go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s hips buck up before he can stop them, and Richie gags once, in a terrifying moment where everything stills, but then he pulls back and finds a better position for himself. He pins Eddie’s hips down to the bed with his hands. When he glances up at Eddie through his eyelashes, the look is </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too amused for someone who almost just choked on a dick. Eddie lets his hips move of their own accord again just as retaliation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Richie’s got a steady rhythm going, Eddie lets his hand wander from the top of Richie’s head to the side, then to the back of it, tangling tightly in his hair there. Richie moans softly around Eddie’s dick, his throat vibrating tight as he works. Eddie whimpers, slamming his eyes shut and willing himself not to let this end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls off, then, and Eddie lifts his head to maybe scold him or something, he hasn’t decided yet, but Richie’s looking back at him so earnestly, his hair a mess from Eddie’s searching fingers and his glasses crooked on his face, misaligned along his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Richie says, which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Eddie was expecting. He drops his head again, noses along the seam where Eddie’s hips meet his thigh, biting into the crease there before he plants a wet kiss on the skin. Eddie huffs a laugh, shifting a little as Richie takes him back into his mouth again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck says </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they’re giving somebody </span>
  <em>
    <span>else </span>
  </em>
  <span>a blowjob,” Eddie manages to get out, his voice choked when Richie licks along the underside of his dick and then sucks, long and slow and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He can’t help but whine, throwing an arm across his eyes. Richie tries to say something, but his mouth is full of cock and it comes out all garbled, which just makes Eddie inhale sharply before he huffs a weak laugh and says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie, don’t talk with your mouth full.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughs, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then, and the vibrations on Eddie’s dick are too much. He can feel the heat pooling, coiling, about to release without his permission, and so he yanks on Richie’s hair to draw him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna cum,” he says, and Richie just raises one eyebrow at him before taking him back into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shouts Richie’s name as he cums hard down his throat, oversensitive and shaking. Richie swallows everything he has to give before sitting up again. Eddie’s softening cock pops free of his lips; when he sits back, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand again, and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes, even though he’s grinning stupidly at the same time. He can’t make the smile go away, so he’ll just have to settle for doing both simultaneously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your turn,” Eddie says, once he’s caught his breath. Richie glances towards the door, then down at his own dick, still covered by his jeans. “Pants off, Tozier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re not comfortable with—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>comfortable with,” Eddie assures him. He wants, abruptly and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking badly, to see Richie’s dick, to get his hands on it and feel the weight of it and imagine how it might feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, in his mouth or in his ass, if and when he gets to that point. “Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods quickly, frantically, and says, “Yeah, Eds, anything— What’re you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Eddie says, unfastening Richie’s jeans and pushing at him until he stands up and off the bed. Eddie goes to the edge of the bed, tugging his jeans down and off with his underwear and his socks in one sharp pull. Richie takes over, steps out and away from his clothes. The pile is abandoned on the floor as Richie climbs back up over Eddie on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine with anything, anything you want,” Richie says. Eddie sits up and draws Richie in, turning him until he can settle with his back against the pillows. He fixes Richie’s glasses for him, straightens them out on his nose, and then settles himself in Richie’s lap. Richie looks up at him with those huge blue eyes of his, all dark with lust as he studies Eddie’s face and waits for him to act, and Eddie can’t really wait anymore, in the face of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie reaches down between them, looking just because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to look at Richie’s cock as he wraps his fingers around it. It’s huge, bigger than most of the ones Eddie’s seen online, and he’s briefly both glad that he didn’t try to take that up his ass already and incredibly disappointed that he can’t get on that </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His fingers are fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>compared to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time,” Eddie says softly. Richie huffs a laugh, lifting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you talking to my dick?” Richie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Eddie snaps, defensive. “I’m talking to you </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>your dick, you fuckhead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so fucking hot,” Richie says, and for a beat Eddie thinks he’s making fun of him, but he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking genuine, face flushed and breath coming hard and fast as Eddie jerks Richie off slow, slipping his hand up and over the head before smoothing the precum down to slick his grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speak for yourself,” Eddie murmurs. Richie laughs again, and Eddie leans in to kiss him. His soft cock is trying to rejoin them, half-filling next to Richie’s throbbing cock. It pulses in his hand, as he starts to find a rhythm stroking him off. Richie moans, surging up to join their lips again, kissing him as hard and deep as he can. He was already harder than Eddie’s ever seen someone in person </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eddie got his hand on him, so he’s not surprised when Richie starts gasping. He inhales deeply, sucking in air before yanking Eddie in for another hard kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, Eddie—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie says, choked and desperate and reed-thin as he cums in Eddie’s hand, his cock squeezing with pulses as Eddie wrings his cum out of him. When Richie finally stops, he collapses backwards, chest heaving. Eddie releases him and wipes his hand off on Richie’s bedspread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Eddie says, unapologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You nasty little gremlin,” Richie pants. He reaches up, and Eddie falls into his side, letting his head pillow on Richie’s soft chest. Richie kisses his temple, then the top of his head. He presses his cheek there, in Eddie’s sweaty, curling hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell me we can do that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see,” Eddie says. He lifts his head to look Richie in the eye, then says, “I suppose, if you’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good,” Richie tells him, before he flips them over with a growl, pinning Eddie to the mattress and nosing into his throat. Eddie yelps as he’s thrown flat on his back, but then Richie kisses his neck and he sighs again, relaxing. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night? Well— Tonight, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s supposed to run errands and then gets drinks with his coworkers, but he quickly mentally cancels all his plans and says instead, “No, I’m not busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna go on an actual date?” Richie asks. “I’ll even take you to a bar that isn’t mine, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To what do I owe such an honor?” Eddie murmurs, then lets Richie duck down to kiss him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One man’s trash,” Richie says. Eddie smacks his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not refer to me as </span>
  <em>
    <span>trash,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie scolds him. Richie laughs as Eddie says, “You fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick, </span>
  </em>
  <span>how d—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie interrupts him, insistent, grinning. Eddie lets him guide him into another kiss before Richie manages to say, “I’m just kidding, I want— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hold on—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie draws back, smiling at him as he says, “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s wrong,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asks, all innocent with his big Bambi eyes,” Richie says. Eddie grins as Richie says, “This fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>horndog—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to ask me out or aren’t you?” Eddie asks. Richie flicks him between the eyes; Eddie smacks him on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna go on an official non-blind date with me?” Richie asks. “Since the other guy lost out fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>big </span>
  </em>
  <span>time, standing you up. I’d like to throw my hat in the ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s heartbeat picks up again. He sits up, guiding Richie in for another kiss. When they’re a breath apart, Eddie says, “Consider your hat tossed,” and Richie grins widely before he’s pulled in and silenced again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo">@nicolelianesolo</a> and/or on Tumblr at <a href="https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/">andillwriteyouatragedy</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>